


Connected in the Darkness

by PunchGrunkLove (HunkleJunk)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Stanford Pines - Freeform, Stanley Pines - Freeform, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunkleJunk/pseuds/PunchGrunkLove
Summary: Everything about her seemed like trouble, but before long, they found themselves connected in the darkness.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Original Female Character(s), Stan Pines/Reader, Stan Pines/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! I hope you enjoy! I'm riding solo this time, no editor. So I apologize.. if my grammar is atrocious! I'm working extra hard to try to self edit.. buuuuuuttt I suck. lol
> 
> I really love this story, and I hope you do too!

Out at sea for almost two years was a halcyon dream that Stan never wanted to wake from. Growing closer to his brother daily, until it was like they were just two kids again at Glass Shard beach, living their childhood fantasies in real life. They saw sights that no other living person had, or may ever again. They discovered entire worlds of new and extraordinary creatures that ranged between, downright adorable, to regal, to lurking beasts of swallowing darkness. Even the life or death struggles were invigorating. Never once doubting the outcome, because they were the Kings of New Jersey, together at last. The brief stops at port for supplies and repairs were filled with laughs and banter, drinks, and the occasional tryst for Stan. It was a full life, and now it was over. They were back in Gravity Falls.

It was good for once for Stan to be back. It finally felt like home. He was ecstatic at the upcoming arrival of Mabel and Dipper in the summer, and with his brother, Soos and Melody all together, it was as if he had the family he always dreamed of. Well, not exactly, if he was honest with himself. He always dreamed of being a family man with children and a wife. Those opportunities were long past, and how could the man who finally had everything he worked so hard for complain? Maybe life didn't turn out the way he wanted, but he ended up where he needed to be, and he was happy. He told himself this, but it didn't stop the emptiness inside him from gnawing at him from time to time.

On the sea, he never felt it; life was too full, there was never time to think of much else. Now that he was home, he worked to make his days full. He distracted his mind with endless tune ups and tweaks to the Stanmobile, and micromanaging of the Mystery Shack. Whatever he could to stay productive. He would even volunteer to help his brother in the lab.. though he was never able to be of much use, and his incessant inquiries began to become somewhat of a nuisance to Ford.

No matter how busy he kept himself during the day, night would always come. Soos and Melody asleep. His brother in the lab, and him to his thoughts. A loneliness eating away at him. His bedroom felt large, his bed even more so. It wasn't a warm body he needed. He had been trying that for the past 40 years. He knew that was like a band aid on a bullet hole. What he was lacking was something real. He was lacking love.

His last relationship was Carla "Hot Pants" McCorkle. If her cheating ways weren't enough to make him swear off women on his own; his situation for the next 40 years took care of that for him. Spending ten years living in the back seat of his car, driving from town to town doesn't leave one available for much more than a passing fling. Then once he settled into Gravity Falls, sure, he could of, perhaps, tried for a relationship, if the secrecy of his work on the portal didn't make him cautious to let anyone get too close.

He did attempt an actual date with Lazy Susan. Once. He sat down. Had dinner. Talked to her. She was always nice to him, even when the other townsfolk weren't, and that had made him adore her. Their first real conversation though; it was a disaster. He could not connect to her on any real level. She prattled on incessantly with vapid gossip and about the hoard of cats that she kept. She talked 'at' him. Not pausing to hear him, or understand him when he tried to speak. Instead of finally feeling closer to another human, he felt more alien, more alone. He left halfway through. He couldn't take the way she made him feel.

Was there anyone he could share a connection with, or had the events of his life made him a strange and foreign creature? Someone that had no chance of finding another like them? It didn't matter though, did it? He was too old. It was too late for a family of his own too, wasn't it? He was in his 60's, but, try as he might to extinguish it, that sliver of hope persisted. 

These were the thoughts that kept Stan Pines up at night, and left him tossing and turning pleading for sleep. Thoughts he felt he couldn't share with anyone. Especially his brother, who he was so grateful to have back. He didn't want to ever make his brother feel like he wasn't enough, or that he was in any way responsible for costing Stan a chance at a real romantic relationship or even a family. He knew his brother still carried enough guilt for all the years spent apart, and he was careful not to add to that.

Without an outlet though, this void ate away at him and on nights like tonight, he had had enough.

"Fuck it." His husky voice grumbled finally. "I need a drink."

He began to hurriedly put his clothes back on, to head out to the bar.

As he parked his car out front of the Skull Fracture, the local biker bar, and like most things in Gravity Falls, also the "only" bar in town, he peered out his window to the neon pink garish sign lighting the cracked stucco façade out front. "Tats," a large intimidating dark skinned man, named, stupidly, for his many, stupid tattoos, stood out front at his nightly vigil as bouncer. Stan exchanged a gruff welcome with him as he made his way inside.

He took in the crowd, it was a slow night, thank god. Manly Dan and Tyler Cutebiker shared a drink in a corner, and Poolcheck was seated at the bar, looking like he was a shot and a half away from a nervous breakdown.. those shots were already lined up and waiting. He took an empty seat as far from the crowd as possible. He wasn't there to be social. He couldn't take the stillness and the quiet of the shack, he needed to be around people and their sounds. Wanting to be around people though, didn't necessarily mean he wanted to interact with them.

"Whiskey, darlin'" He said briskly to the bartender as she took his order. She shot him a smile and a wink as she went to pour his usual. She was tall and busty, with blonde wavy hair parted to one side like some old school Hollywood starlet. Her lips were pouty and always painted the same cherry red. When she flirted with Stan, she was fun, and made him feel young, and important. He knew she was doing it for the tips, but he never minded. It was a good time when he was feeling jovial and lively. Tonight however, was not that night.

"Something gotcha down Mista' Pines?" She cooed as she brought him his double whiskey, straight. She was working it tonight, alright. Usually that voice would be enough to get him revved up, but tonight it grated on every last nerve he had. Perhaps it was just the insincerity of it, that seemed to feed the void he felt within himself.

"Nah Doll, Just a long night. Looking for a few quiet drinks before I pass out." He rasped, softly, hoping she would get the hint at the "quiet drinks" part. Apparently she did, as her pleasant smile turned downwards and she walked away unceremoniously. His shoulders slumped forwards. He knew it was gonna be hell getting a second round.

Two hours, and only four doubles later, the bartender, not liking the rejection, indeed took her time in the near-empty bar to serve him each and every time his drink was empty, to the point where he spent more time waiting for service than he did drinking. He finally gave up and decided to finish off with a night cap at home. He paid his bill, and still tipped her generously. Something he figured he should do for any woman who had to deal with a wretch like himself.

The drive back to the shack felt empty. It was quiet. He could have put on music, but the silence matched his mood so perfectly. He feared that piercing it with sound would feel jarring. As the shack came into view, it looked ominous. It was hard to believe this was the home that he honestly loved so much, full of people he cared about so dearly. If he had such a happy life, if he finally had it all, what was this feeling of discontent that he couldn't seem to shake?

"What the hell is wrong with me?" He muttered to himself as he let himself inside.

Whatever it was Stan thought was wrong with him, he seemed to think that more whiskey was a good cure. So he sat, slumped over in the dark at the kitchen table and gave himself a liberal dose. When he was finally assured that sleep would come with little fight, he made his way out of the kitchen chair. A task, that had become surprisingly difficult.

Perhaps he had drank too much, he realized, as the darkness spun menacingly around him. Usually he could navigate the shack without the aid of light, but now he was grabbing on to counters and walls, and reaching around to assure himself that his large tumbling frame was indeed where he thought it was.

The heavy march upstairs, was even more perilous, and at one point it almost became a plummet down. At last however, he made it to his room. Leaning against a wall for support He pulled his black t-shirt roughly over his head, and clumsily tripped out of his suit pants onto the bed. Only then realizing he was still wearing his shoes. His shoes were pulled off, still tied, and thrown on the floor haphazardly with the rest of the clothes. Socks were soon to follow as his great hulking frame collapsed with a loud 'thunk' and the creak of bedsprings, onto his bed.

This, theoretically, would have been a great time to pass out, and Stan would have, if not for the fact that every time he closed his eyes his head would spin and the sensation of falling would overtake him. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Crap.. Noww Imm too drunk to sleep? weeeeellll sheeet." he grumbled, as he sat, swaying in place, too drunk to get up, too drunk to lay down, and just waited dumbly for the moment the spins subsided enough for sleep to overtake him.

Morning came far too early. It was 11 am, and it was still too early for Stan. The spring sun was too bright. His room was too hot. His sweat felt viscous and oily on his skin. He could swear he could smell the undertones of whiskey coming from it. As soon as he squinted his eyes open to the offending light, a headache seared behind his eyes. This was gonna be a helluva day.

As he sat up the usual aches and pains of the morning seemed exacerbated by his hangover. His shoulders and back seemed seized and stiff, not wanting to move. He forced them into a painful stretch; groaning, as he pushed his thick, burly arms above his head and arched his back, pushing out his broad brawny chest until all the muscles where white hot with the pulling sensation. He twisted his back now, his lumbering frame still somewhat nimble in its age, until a series of pops made him moan in satisfaction.

He now felt relatively human enough to lift himself from the bed and to get some coffee... no wait... he lifted an arm and smelled himself again.. his nose upturned in disgust, and his stomach twisted at his own pungent aroma... to the shower. Coffee would have to wait. He grabbed the first set of casual clothes he saw, and headed off to the bathroom.

The effort to get into a shower, was monumental. Once inside however, feeling the hot water rinse off the sweat and grime from the nights events, was amazing. The water over his face was dulling his headache, and the feeling through his short hair was bliss. He took his time, feeling his nails against his scalp as he washed his thick silver hair, and then massaging his sore body with his fragrant bar soap, loving the smell of something that wasn't whiskey. He washed his face several times where it had become thick with oil from drinking the previous night. "Never again." he thought, "Although, I've said that before" He chuckled to himself.. each laugh creating a stabbing of pain in his head.. "Oof..I deserve that, I guess." He grumbled as he turned off the water. As nice as the hot water felt, the cool air hitting his warm body felt even better. It was an blessing on his accursed head, and goose bumps ran down his neck. However by the time he got dressed, his temperature had regulated again, and the headache was back with a vengeance. At least now he could get coffee.

He stumbled downstairs, every step a new stab to his head, feeling like an ice pick behind his right eye. When he got into the kitchen he could smell the coffee and it smelled amazing, however when he went to grab a cup, the pot was empty.

"Goddammit" He growled, as he began to make a new one angrily, slamming the tin of coffee down, splashing grounds over the counter, overfilling the water, Slamming the lid on the coffee maker, when he was done, he heard a sweet voice behind him.

"Stan, are you okay?" Said Melody. He turned, and for the first time noticed his audience, of Soos, Melody and a Stranger, all wide eyed at his antics, all with cups of fresh coffee in their hands sitting at the kitchen table.

"Yeah Kid, I'm fine, just really wanted some coffee, and thought there would be a cup left." Stan said softly to Melody "Sorry, Hon", he added sheepishly, but had made a point to shoot irritated eyes at the guest. In his miserable state he wanted her to know, she had taken 'his' coffee. It was petty, sure, but he was hung over, and it was his house, he reasoned.

Soos seemed to be looking nervously over the situation. He was dressed in his Mister Mystery outfit, of a Black Suit with Red Ribbon tie. His matching red fez, set on the counter in front of him. He toyed at the hat anxiously. Stan could tell it was a slow day if Soos was still hanging out in the kitchen. He wondered what was making Soos so on edge and fidgety. Was something going on? Had he acted like an asshole about the coffee? All he knew was his head hurt.

He sighed and lowered himself with a strain into a seat at the table. "So who's your friend?" Stan asked flatly, his bleary eyes taking her in for the first time. Her hair fell around her face in a thick mop of unruly light caramel brown curls that went to her chin. Her face was partially obscured by her mass of wild hair, but her eyes were a striking deep brown, almost shining deep obsidians, large and round, with dark lashes. Her cheeks freckled and rosy, with large pouting lips the same shade of delightful blushing pink. If her face was a picture of femininity. The rest of her was less than. She wore torn up jeans with oxblood boots, and a tank top, with a flannel over that. She seemed athletically built, She was thick, and had a bit of curve, but every piece of skin showing, showed some slight muscle definition. Maybe she was here to work at the Lumberyard.

"Well Stan, " Melody started, she seemed to get nervous as well, her plump face squinting into an anxious pout as she spoke. Whatever was going on he wished that someone would spit it out, because the beating around the bush was doing nothing but aggravate his already sour mood. "That's what Soos, and I wanted to talk to you about. You see, we were hoping, you would be up earlier.. but you weren't and so we made an executive decision and..."

At that moment a tour bus pulled up, and Melody's face dropped.

"It's okay Dood, you get them started, I'll take care of things with Stan!" Soos said with a forced cheer to his voice.

Melody ran over, and grabbed the girls hands whispering something to her before running to greet the tour bus. "What was she whispering, why the show of sympathy? Am I so hard to be left in a room with," Stan thought bitterly to himself.

"So. What Melody was saying, is this is her friend, ________ and she is moving to Gravity Falls, and uhh.. needs a place to stay until she can pick up a job and get a place of her own, so we are letting her stay here for a little while, and umm... we uhh... hoooope that's ok with... you?" Soos said.. ending up just as nervous as Melody towards the end, with excellent reason too; as Stan was glaring daggers into him throughout his whole speech.

Soos's eyes darted nervously between Stan and then at ________. She looked down at her hands, and then up to Stan, seeming to expect him to interject with a different verdict.

For the moment however, she was saved by the bell, or the beep at least, as the new coffee had finished it's cycle. Stan, fuming with rage, got up to get the coffee and collect his thoughts. He knew one thing, Soos was about to get chewed out. Except..

Melody's nervous call for Mister Mystery came from the gift shop, and Soos left with an apologetic look to ________.

Great. Now he had to deal with this girl himself. He turned slowly to face her. As much as it hurt his aching body, he threw his shoulders back and puffed his chest in an act of dominance. This was his castle, and he wanted her to know it. His eyes narrowed on her, and lips formed a tight disapproving line across his face before his continued.

"So what makes you think you are gonna show up on my doorstep and come live here, I assume you are expecting, rent free?" Stan growled at her, His voice low, partly from anger, partly because it was the only tone that allowed him to keep his headache at bay.

"I'm sorry." She said meekly. "When I made the drive, I was under the impression they had already talked to you about this. I have a little money. I can pay for rent, if you would like, but to be honest, if I save it for a deposit on a new place, I would be out of your way much quicker, so it is up to you."

She was back to looking down at her hands miserably. She paused and took a deep breath. She seemed to be imploring herself to continue.

She let out her breath slowly and began, "I can cook. I can clean. I can help around the house." She said without looking up. "If you would be so kind as to give me a month. After that, even if I don't have a new place, I won't be your problem, I promise." She was pleading with him. From the strain and tremor in her voice, he could tell how much of herself it took to beg like this. She sighed forlornly and forced her eyes to meet Stan's. She may have been pleading, but there was a brilliant force behind her shimmering onyx eyes as she looked up at him. Her eye contact was resolute, and there was a stunning strength there.

In Stan's life, he had been no stranger to begging. Swallowing his pride. Those rock bottoms, you don't forget. That feeling of helplessness; it scars you. He heard it in the tremble of her voice, in the way she looked at her hands. Hell, even the way she breathed. He even saw the same raging in her eyes that he had had on those occasions that he was brought to his knees. He saw his own lifetime of trouble, and him, now at the other end. He may have been hung over. He may have been in a shitty mood. He was even wary about the situation, but he wouldn't bring himself to treat someone as poorly as he had been treated in his lifetime.

"One month," he grumbled. "It'll be less if you cause trouble."

"Thank you." She said submissively, a small gracious smile spread across her face, though her eyes remained tired and sad. She got up quietly, and stepped over to the sink and filled a large glass with ice water. She placed it by Stans side. She averted her expressive eyes from his and said cautiously, "The coffee is good, but it's a diuretic; you will still need ice water for the headache and the rest of the hangover." He looked up at her in surprise, wondering how obvious his hangover must be. He noticed how nervous she looked around him. She held one arm to her side apprehensively, her head bowed, and large, doll-like eyes almost frightened, and avoiding his. Then he saw.. peaking through the mass of curls that had been obscuring her face. Was that a bruise? The forehead all the way to the crescent of her cheekbone was splashed in painful looking purples and magentas.

He sucked in his breath at the sight, but before he could even comprehend what he had seen, or respond, she had swiftly made her exit, not only from the kitchen, but the Shack. He watched out the window at her as she hopped into her car and pulled away.

He took a long swig of ice water, and he felt himself begin to rehydrate. His headache started to dull, and every inch of him just cried for more water. As the hours passed, and he just worked on staying hydrated. The mornings events playing over in his mind. More began to make sense, but many questions remained. Memories and familiar feelings resurfaced as he replayed his interactions with her.

He was ashamed for his outburst that morning. He wished he could go back and make a better first impression. Be the good man he had thought he was. That poor girl had obviously been through something, and it seemed to echo his own life's story and resonate in his very soul.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! I really hope you enjoy! I updated early.. because I have no impulse control.

Stan returned gradually to the land of the living. His hangover retreated quickly. By 2 o'clock he was feeling like a bona fide human again. ________ had still not returned. His chest was heavy with guilt and a thick knot grew in his stomach over the morning’s encounter. He had questions about her, and he knew the best people to ask would be Melody and Soos, but as business had picked up and kept steady all day, there was no time to interrogate them. He thought of keeping himself busy with tasks, but every time he would think of one, another thought would derail him from actually beginning it.

He thought about giving the Stanmobile a wash and wax, its cherry red paint job having become dulled from the dirt roads in Gravity Falls... but before he could get up to do it, he was bombarded by questions that kept him immobile.

'Where will she sleep? He thought, The attic? What if she is still here when the kids arrive? Should I be making room? No, I should make sure I know first.' Stan picked the dirt clean under his nails as he thought; fidgeting at anything he could do to keep his unease under control.

Trying to get on track again, he thought that maybe a more interesting task could keep his mind focused. A new taxidermy piece for the Mystery Shack..

Before he could even get out of the living room to check his stock of supplies however, He was derailed into more thoughts about her. 'Why is she here so suddenly? Wouldn't Soos and Melody normally come to me first before inviting someone to stay.' his mind began to race again, 'Does it have to do with the bruise on her face. It looks like she took a hit.'

From there, Stan's memories would fade to the thrashings he had taken, both in the ring and out, and the very specific marks a beating will tend to leave. His mind reeled trying to figure out what had happened to her. Grasping at assumptions, and the feelings and reactions she had shown that seemed to be mirrored from his own life with no real facts to go on.

Coming out of his unproductive obsessive thoughts, he realized he had been pacing the living room. It was now 4 o'clock. The shack would be closed in two hours. ‘Could he get some answers then? Where had she gone, though? Had he chased her off? Why hadn't she returned? Would she?'

He walked quickly to the fridge to grab a Pitt cola and made his way to the couch on the front porch. His heavy frame eased into the well worn seats, and he slumped forward, swiping a large meaty hand up his face in frustration, knocking his glasses askew. A low groan escaped him. What could he do? He didn't even rightfully know the situation. He just had a feeling about her. Too many things felt familiar. Too many things made him remember parts of his life he wished he could leave behind. He sighed as he rested his head in his hands, threading his thick fingers through his short, coarse hair. All he could do was wait.

His spiraling thoughts were again interrupted, this time by a vehicle approaching. It's brakes were shot. He could hear the metal on metal grind all the way from the porch as it parked.. It was her. She had indeed come back. As she got out of the car, she looked exhausted. her large oval eyes seemed hopeless and dulled, Her shoulders slumped and her movements sluggish as she approached the shack.

"You okay kid?" Stan called out, His bushy eyebrows knit in concern, as he tried to keep his gravelly voice soft, a marked difference from the mornings interactions.

She looked up as if in a trance, "Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm fine. I was looking for a job today." She forced a weak smile. 

She quietly let herself inside. Stan instinctually got up to follow. He grabbed his can of Pitt, only to discover it was still mostly full, and warm. He had been lost in his thoughts much longer than he realized.

She sat on the floor by the couch, and slowly unzipped her boots. When Stan entered she looked up at him with a small jerk. Her tired eyes, wide and inquisitive at his movements. He went to empty the warm contents of his Pitt down the drain and throw the can away, and when he returned, she was still in the same place, with her knees pressed to her chest and her arms curled lightly around her. He crossed the room under her watchful gaze and took a seat in his mustard yellow easy chair. The air was thick with tension. Stans first instinct was irritation, but he quickly worked to calm himself. He knew this was most likely an atmosphere that he had created, so he should try to fix it.

"So.." He began gruffly and awkwardly, not exactly thinking through what he wanted to say. "What makes you wanna live in Gravity Falls?" He sucked in his breath at the end, understanding the severity of what he just asked her. It was a pretty loaded question for a lady with a busted up face, he thought to himself with a grimace.

Her eyes closed gradually as she sighed into her knees, and seemed to hug herself tighter. "I just needed a change of pace, and Melody said to come." She swallowed thickly, opening her eyes slightly. "She said people here were nice." Her voice was quiet and sad. What bits of her eyes were visible were glossy.

The knot in the pit of Stan's stomach seemed to clench him harder. People here were nice, eh? He thought bitterly to himself. Well, he'd done a swell job of screwing that up for her. He thought frantically of something to say to make the situation better.. The word "sorry" came and quickly left his mind, as other options were considered. His heart rate increased, and he felt like he was suffocating. He settled with what he knew;

"Do you mind if I turn on the TV?" he asked bluntly.

"Of course, it's your house." She said, and began to get up. "Pardon me" She left for the porch.

He was left feeling winded from another encounter gone horribly wrong with his new guest. At least this time he wasn't alone with his thoughts. This time, he had a marathon of BabyFights to keep him company and distract him.

Once outside ________ sucked air into her lungs in a panic. She had felt as if she was drowning inside. She curled up on the couch on the porch and looked out into the forest, suspiciously watching the cars that drove by. Any minute expecting to see 'Him' drive by, pull up, take her back.

She didn't want to go back, but she didn't want to stay here either. She was obviously unwelcome. Her mind spiraled. She wondered what she would do if he did come for her. It would be easier to give up. Just go back. She turned her phone on. The notifications incessantly buzzed as it came to life. He was up to 16 voicemails. She knew they ranged from angry and threatening, to sobs and pleas. She didn't need to hear them. It had happened too many times. She had heard it all before.

She didn't expect things to be happy here, but she didn't expect herself to have to beg for a home that was already promised her, for a fraction of the time she was promised. She was worried. What if she upset Stan? Would he make due on his promise to kick her out. What would she do then? Would she just go back?

She stared at her phone. The notifications glaring back at her. She hadn't checked her texts yet. She was sure they were horrendous.

"Whatcha doing?" A stern voice behind her sounded. She turned to find Melody fresh out of work, blue eyes narrowed and mouth puckered in a disappointed pout.

"Ugggggh" ________ let out a weary groan. "I went out job hunting today. I have to have it on now, in case I get interview call backs."

"You went out already? Have you even slept yet?" cried Melody incredulously. ________ gave Melody a fatigued look that was answer enough. "Besides," Melody scolded, " you should have just used the Shacks number for call backs!"

________ dragged a hand down her face and looked up at Melody with large glassy defeated eyes. "I'm an idiot." she sighed.

Melody sat next to her friend, "I mean, kinda... yeah?" she laughed and shoved _______ playfully.

________ smiled weakly in return. "I think Stan hates me, Melody." She started, the smile quickly replaced by a despondent look, "You really should have asked him first. He said I have a month, but he said if I screw up, he'll kick me out before then.. I just... I don't know what to do."

"Don't worry about Stan, honestly, He can be a grump, but he's an amazing guy and he takes care of everyone.. He's been taking care of Soos since he was a kid, and he's been so welcoming to me. Just give him a chance... Do it for me?" She gave her best puppy dog eyes, that elicited a weak giggle from ________.

Melody then followed with a firmer command of; "Try. Please?"

"Yeah.. okay" _________ said shamefully.

________ swallowed any retorts she had. This was the price of freedom. She could do it. She would work hard to show gratitude to her friend. To earn her place in this shack. To find her independence in this world. She could do it. She had to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!!

Melody and ________ returned to the house quietly. Melody and Soos headed upstairs to freshen up after work, as ________ went made her way into the kitchen. Stan tried to concentrate on the latest episode of BabyFights, but the gnawing guilt kept pulling his focus back to the kitchen.

He finally grunted, lifting himself with much effort and several pops and creaks of his joints from the comfortable chair, and made his way to follow her. He found her making stock of the cupboard and pantry. She cocked her head cautiously at him when he walked in, to seemingly gauge his reaction to the situation. "I told Soos and Melody I would cook dinner for everyone tonight. I'm just trying to see what to make." She said uneasily in a hurried explanation.

"I'm afraid we haven't gone shopping in a while. So there isn't much," Stan chuckled softly, stroking his coarse grey stubble in thought. He was trying his best to keep things light. "If you want, we can go to the store together and pick some food out? I was gonna go shopping tomorrow anyways." He shrugged casually, t hinking a shopping trip may be a good chance to patch things up.

"No no no! It's okay really. I'm used to bare cupboard cooking!" She protested, her panic seeming to rise again.

She forced herself to stop; calm herself and collect her thoughts. Her mind went back to what Melody had said. She vouched for him. He was letting her stay here, he didn't have to. He could have kicked her out already. He offered to take her shopping. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed. Maybe he was trying? She had to try too. She took a deep breath through her nose.

"Thank you Stan, but it will be okay." she said, and gave him a soft smile. Her smile was stunning. He was surprised that he found himself wondering what kinds of things made her happy.

She pulled out Flour and eggs.. then Half and Half, of which there was always at least one spare carton in a house full of coffee drinkers. She rummaged around the fridge, reaching desperately at the back of the shelves until she found a small wedge of hardened cheese; poorly wrapped, and obviously long forgotten.

"umm... Is this Parmesan or a soft cheese that's just been in the fridge way too long?" She smirked shyly and let out a small tinkling giggle.

Stan laughed in response. "It's Parmesan, Doll. My brother thought he could make Chicken Parmesan one of our first nights home. He succeeded; in making a mess, creating a small fire, but in the end he bought the take out, so it wasn't all bad." Stan joked. "Seriously though, if you ever see Ford in the kitchen, don't let him cook."

Her eyes went wide and a small hand shot up to cover her mouth as she laughed. Her laugh was loud and delightful. The sound of it brought a wide grin to Stan's face. It felt like the knot in his insides was slowly loosening.

"This will be perfect for a good dinner, I promise" She said with determination. She got to work making a dough out of the egg, flour and a little water with some salt and spices. As she let it rest for a bit, she pulled a stockpot out and began to fill it with water for the stove.

Stan looked on in disbelief. The ingredient list looked like scraps, but she indeed seemed to be making a dinner out of it. Small talk was exchanged while she worked. Nothing too intrusive, mostly jokes, job leads, and information about the town. With each new interaction she seemed to relax and brighten even more. The dough was rolled then stretched and hand cut into pasta. The sauce, a "Parmesan Cream" she called it, smelled tantalizing, and left Stan salivating. As the meal wrapped up, it seemed perfect timing. She made a plate and served it to Stan while he sat at the table.

Ford entered the kitchen soon after; greeting ________ by name. It was apparent that they had already met. She smiled warmly at him, and ushered him to a seat so she could make him a plate as well. It was a service the twins were not used to.

Next Soos and Melody came back from upstairs.

"Dood! It smells amazing!" said Soos cheerily.

"Oh My God, ________, Is that your pasta? You know I love that stuff! Melody cried, wrapping ________ in a big hug. ________ smile grew wide at the praise and her cheeks flushed. She nuzzled her head affectionately in Melody's mousy brown waves.

She tried to let Soos and Melody sit, and they stopped her. "Dood. You don't have to do that you know... just make your own plate. You cooked!" said Soos, as they stood and waited while she awkwardly helped herself to a small amount and leaned against the counter to eat as everyone else sat.

When dinner was done, ________ began to clear dishes to be washed. Soos, Melody and Ford made their exit to watch a bit of television for the night, which had become tradition since the twins arrival home. Stan stood up to join them, then thought better of it.

"You cooked, I can take care of these." He said to her kindly.

She looked at him with large deep eyes shining brightly, a surprised smile spread across her face, and her rosy cheeks grew a shade rosier under her blush. "Oh, no. Thank you! but no... You-You were right, you know." She said with a thoughtful sigh, "I don't know you. If I'm going to stay here, I need to earn my keep, and I don't mind, really. Go watch TV with everyone else. This shouldn't take too long."

He surveyed the disaster of the kitchen after a home cooked meal for five adults. Smiling softly in return, he picked up a rag. "You wash, I'll dry, how about that?"

She nodded a meek affirmative, and began to wash the plates. She kept her head lowered to keep her heavy blush hidden. His kindness had taken her off guard, and she wasn't quite sure why it was affecting her in such a way. Washing dishes began quietly; the rush of water, the clink of plates.

Stan finally piped up. "So, was my hangover really that obvious this morning?" Stan chuckled nervously. "I uhhh... wanted to apologize for that by the way." His hand rose to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "Probably not the greeting you were expecting, huh?"

She turned to study him. Her eyes gentle and kind, the rich deep mahogany hues, shining through in the light. "You weren't that obvious, I'm just... used to drinkers." She started sadly. "and thank you. for that, and.. well.. for letting me stay here." Her smile was timid, but warm and sincere.

Her forgiveness, her gratitude; he knew he didn't deserve either, but she gave them so effortlessly, and so earnestly. He found himself deeply touched by her. His mouth opened slightly, but no words left. He was frozen in his thoughts. A glass was handed off. Stans attention diverted; it fell into the sink.

She cried out as she went to catch it. Grasping it at the unlucky moment that it shattered. She looked to him in shock. The sink splattered with bright red from a large gash in the palm of her hand. She choked out, "I'm sorry!" In that instant, she looked instinctually terrified of Stan.

That look of terror in her eyes brought Stan back to Glass Shard Beach. The constant fear of his father. Tip toeing around the house, and if anything happened, being paralyzed by fear of the wrath that was soon to come. In that moment his heart shattered for the poor girl. She had known the same kind of fear that Stan grew up with. It was still with her.

If Stan’s world had frozen for a moment, now it seemed to be back full speed. He quickly shut off the water, and tenderly took her hand in his. The cut was deep and angry, but nothing requiring medical attention. He checked it for remaining glass fragments carefully, and wrapped it in a clean rag attentively, as to not hurt her. His striking chestnut eyes large with concern, stared into hers intently.

"No need to apologize. This isn't your fault." Stan said firmly but gently. He could see her swallow thickly at his words."Are you okay?" He asked.

"I'm ok." She nodded for emphasis, "but-but the glass.." She began; her eyes still wide and showing her panic.

"Is just a glass." he finished calmly.

With his large hand over her delicate ones, he led her to a chair and had her sit. He rummaged under the sink until he found the first aid kit and pulled up a chair beside her. He lay her hand in his palm and carefully unwrapped the rag around it, already soaked crimson in blood. He noted how slight and frail her hands looked inside of his large ones. He began to apply antiseptic to the wound. She didn't flinch. The cut, she didn't seem to notice. She looked at him with wonder, as if he was performing a miracle, by simply tending to her injury. It was quick, and once it was over, he was surprised at how loath he was to feel the warmth of her leave his hands again. She did not, however, take them away quickly, as he would have guessed, but instead, turned them over, and gingerly took his hands in her own.

"Thank you," she said almost breathlessly, her wide eyes stared deeply into his own; to him, in that moment, they were the night sky; so dark, but filled with such brightness and light. Before he knew it, her smooth, slight hands slowly slid away from his large calloused palms. The warmth and comfort they brought were gone. She gracefully lifted herself from the chair, and began cleaning the broken glass and blood from the sink, as if nothing had ever happened.

It took a beat for Stan to collect himself. His cheeks dusted pink, and he felt suddenly flustered. He cleaned up the mess from the bandage, and put away the first aid kit. There were only a few dishes left, so Stan insisted on doing them, so she wouldn't get her bandage wet. Hoping that would be a good enough excuse for her to rest, but instead she busied herself with wiping the oven, counters and table, and then taking out the trash.

The kitchen was cleaner when she finished than Stan had ever remembered it being. That, in itself wasn't a high bar to surpass, but she had surpassed it by quite a bit, and it looked incredible. They joined the others in the living room for the end of a rerun of "Nearly Almost Dead but not Quite!" Stan had lost his taste for zombie flicks a few years back after having to deal with the bastards in real life. So missing this, wasn't too bad. In fact, he honestly enjoyed spending time doing dishes with ________. He sat through the climactic finale, and found that instead of watching the movie, he was watching her. The dancing lights of the TV screen reflecting on her face and hair as she sat on the floor near Soos and Melody's feet. His palms tingled where she had held his hands so tenderly. He thought about the way she had looked at him. He shut his eyes tightly to get rid of the images from his head. She had barely begun to feel comfortable around him. Not to mention, she was younger than him. She was obviously getting out of something traumatic. She wasn't an option as far as Stan was concerned. He reminded himself all of this while the credits rolled.

The lights went back on. Ford quickly exited, and came back with a large bundle of blankets and pillows from the hall closet. Melody and Soos each gave ________ a hug in turn as Ford laid the bounty on the couch.

"Thank you guys so much." She said happily, making sure to look at Soos, Melody, Ford and Stan in turn. Stan flushed, as her brilliant dark mahogany eyes met his.

She ran to her car and came back with a bag that he guessed was full of clothes.

Everyone wished each other a good night, as Soos and Melody went to bed, and Ford retreated to the basement. ________ went to the bathroom with her bag to get changed, and Stan decided to make her bed on the couch for her. As the last blanket was smoothed down, she made her way into the living room. She was in simple black short-shorts with a white athletic stripe down the sides and a wide shouldered tank top with the logo of "Squeal and Peel" apparently a Burger joint/Gas Station with a ridiculous name. Their logo was a hog riding a burger/hotrod, and peeling out. It was way too much going on, and he could see why she liked it.

Her smile was large and genuine, Her dark eyes stared dreamily at Stan. "Thank you," She said delighted. She beamed at him as she made her way to the couch. A yawn escaped her and she stretched out. Her arms were a perfect blend of toned femininity. He could see her upper arms were covered in more deep purple bruises that appeared to wrap around to her back, it made a rage boil inside him. She seemed so kind, so delicate. Who could hurt someone like her?

"Goodnight Stan." she said adoringly as she crawled into the makeshift bed. His rage settled down back into affection for his new housemate.

"Goodnight doll" He smiled at her sleepy face as he made his way up the stairs. 

As he left. She was alone. Exhaustion from the past 36 hours settling in over her in oppressive waves. Her body felt weak as she started to drift off then...

buzz...

buzz..

She looked at the phone on the floor by the couch. It lit up with 'His' name. She didn't even have the nerve to repeat it in her head. The very sight of it written out, made her stomach churn and the air leave her lungs.

She stared in revulsion as it went to voicemail. The toll now up to 18 voicemails. She couldn't bring herself to listen to them. She didn't know what she was afraid of. Was it the man himself, or the fact that she was so pitifully stupid, she could actually find herself going back to him.

She brushed back her silken curls and touched the stitches nestled into the hairline. Ford was kind, and had done an excellent job with her injuries. He said she was lucky they weren't more severe.

"Don't do this." She told herself in a scared whisper.

She took the phone in her hand and looked at it... Her eyes wide and pupils blown in the darkness. She could hear his voice echoing in her heart.

"You think you can do better than me? No one will ever love you like I do!" His scream was guttural and savage. The sentiment, not a new one. Not even one that was his alone.. but had been echoed in relationship after relationship. That night, it had been followed by another strike to cement her place in the universe.

She gasped for air as hot tears streamed down her face. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe for people like her, love just came at a price.

It was a price she was no longer willing to pay. She could make it alone.

Alone.

For most people the word ‘Alone’ is sad, or scary. To her it felt like armor. She would make it in this world alone. If she was incapable of experiencing love with another, she would learn to love herself. She felt her resolve strengthen as she finally drifted off.


End file.
